October 14, 2015

“Splitting moonlight” Photographed by Manuela Iodice for REVS

Dear You,

Part of the exhilaration of meeting new people comes from brushing against the edges of their galaxies. For a moment you’re thrown into a spiral, and you’re disoriented because this is new. Then you collect yourself and begin a more methodical approach towards the vast unknown. You’ll only encroach as far as they let you, but it’s expected because, after all, this is a fair exchange. And this is how friendships are made–a path is forged between your two worlds, and the more you traverse it the more connecting highways there will be. You’ve both become Heimdalls. #goals

But every so often I’ll come across a person I can’t place; I can’t read them. These rare cases are usually ignored as I bumble along my merry way, but it seems, for the first time in a long time, I don’t have a compelling reason not to stop and linger a while longer. I hope not to tarry too long, but my curiousity is piqued so who knows how long this will take to shake off. It’s already been 11 long days. I’ve been here before, you see, and I can’t wait to be rid of it every time. And for all this cryptic language, I still can’t relate the burden of my knotted feelings to anyone; this is the best I can do. Even I hardly understand this mess of words.

I’ve accepted that there might not be a name for it. It’s an in-between emotion, which is quite fitting given my current in-between, transition state. I’m learning to become okay with it, to know that it might not be a problem that has a solution. But it’s still a thorn in my side, an itch I can’t touch, and a scab I can’t pick.